


Under The Folding Branches

by RoseByAnyOtherName17



Series: The Lion, the Wolf and the Dragon [9]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Battle, Gen, Invasion, Reunions, Riverlands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 00:43:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11543874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseByAnyOtherName17/pseuds/RoseByAnyOtherName17
Summary: "We'll be a proper family again," Jon promised before he left again for the North.Arya watched him go before turning to the task at hand: taking Riverrun.





	Under The Folding Branches

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the wait, it's been hard finding inspiration, plus writing battle scenes are hard for me. Feedback is appreciated and I hope you enjoy this.
> 
> title from the song by The Veils

Jon and a small company of Northerners would sail with them to the Trident, and from there the party would split. Arya would lead the Free Folk and Mormont armies to Riverrun; Jon would ride North. Daenerys suspected that Viserion would follow whether Jon wished for that or not, and let Tyrion instruct Jon how to treat the dragon. “He is as intelligent as a man,” Tyrion said, “and should be respected as equal to you.” Tyrion smiled slightly. “You are a lucky man, Jon Snow. You have two loyal beasts on your side; most of us have no one but ourselves and the men at our backs.”

 

Arya hid a smile in her palm when Jon awkwardly told the dragon to travel North over the sea. “It will be safer if you arrive at Winterfell after myself,” he said quietly, looking into the creamy-white dragon’s eyes. “The Northerners will be afraid.” Viserion blinked and huffed warm air over him, and Jon sighed.

 

“He’ll get there,” Arya assured him. “Ghost found his way back to Castle Black when you were with the Wildlings, didn’t he?”

 

“Ghost knew the way,” Jon reminded her. “All of this is new for Viserion.”

 

“He found us on the sea,” Arya said, “and he will find _you_ at Winterfell.”

 

Saying goodbye to Jon when they reached the Trident was almost too much. “One day soon, we won’t have to say goodbye to each other anymore,” Jon promised. “When the war is won—when _both_ wars are won—you’ll come home. We will be a proper family again.”

 

Arya could hardly breathe when he embraced her, whether from the strength of it or the lump in her throat she couldn’t tell. But her eyes were dry when he let her go, and so were his. She remembered the last time they had said goodbye, in her room at Winterfell, with a small sword and laughter and certainty that she would see him again. But that was before she knew what war could do to a person’s family. Father, Mother, Robb, Rickon, Bran…all gone. She wanted to make Jon swear to her that he would not die—but she couldn’t. All she could do now was stretch up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek and then let him leave.

 

_Bring him back,_ she thought silently. To whom she was praying to, she could not say.

 

**

 

They travelled quickly, staying away from the Kingsroad and villages. When food ran low, Arya sent a small group into a village with a large amount of gold and instructions to move quickly and avoid talking to anyone unnecessarily. They camped a mile away and the men returned with enough supplies to last until Riverrun, if supplemented by hunting game as they went.

 

She stopped sharing a tent with little Lyanna Mormont as they grew closer; more and more frequently, she was awakening in the night panting with howls echoing in her head and the taste of blood in her mouth. She told no one, but there was a night when she was woken again by the howling and alarmed voices outside. She grabbed Needle and rushed outside. Tormund Giantsbane stepped in front of her. “Stay still, Lady Stark,” he whispered gruffly, but the howling was fading into snuffles and quiet yips. A wolf as large as Ghost stood just a few feet away, hackles raised, growling lowly at Tormund. Eyes reflected off of torchlight in the trees, too many to count. Arya blinked and she was staring at herself, partly hidden by the large red-haired man guarding her, a snarl building in her throat. She was torn between herself and the wolf until she opened her mouth to speak. “Nymeria?”

 

She snapped back into her own body and stumbled with the force of it into Tormund’s back. He grunted, surprised at her weight, and it gave her enough time to slip past him and get closer to the wolf, to kneel in front of her and hold out her hand, palm up. Arya bowed her head and closed her eyes, and hoped desperately that she was right.

 

The moment was frozen, as though no one breathed, and every man’s voice died as they saw the girl on the ground in front of the wolf, perfectly still.

 

There was an almost inaudible whine, a huff of warm air ruffling her sleep-mussed hair, a feather-light lick to her hand. Arya exhaled shakily and blindly turned her hand over, reaching forward until her fingers became tangled in fur. “Nymeria,” she breathed as a wet nose pushed against her forehead. She finally lifted her face to her direwolf, and the moment their eyes met, Nymeria lifted her own and howled.

 

Arya stood, one hand resting on Nymeria’s head as the eyes melted back into the darkness, and faced the Northerners. Their faces were filled with awe and fear alike, some with a strange mixture of both. “No more hiding,” she called out. “In a few days, we will be upon Riverrun and we _will_ take it from the Lannisters.” Directly in front of her, Tormund got down on one knee, head bent in respect. Slowly, every men followed, until she was the only one left standing. She felt herself swell with pride and said, “Now get some sleep. We move at dawn.”

 

Nymeria slept outside Arya’s tent, and in the morning she was still there.

 

Arya felt as if a piece of herself had come back together.

 

**

 

They were not a large enough army to lay siege to Riverrun the way that the Lannisters and Freys had before Edmure surrendered it to them. The scouts reported that its walls were not heavily guarded at night, but the only visible way in was by the drawbridge, which could only be opened from inside the stronghold. “There must be another way,” Arya insisted to them. “A hidden dock, something for their boats and barges. If we can find that, we can get in and take it from the inside without raising the alarm.”

 

“Even if we get in that way, there is no guarantee of their number,” the oldest of the scouts said, a man named Holden. “Very few of us have been inside Riverrun before, Milady. When we supported your brother here, we camped outside.”

 

“We have wolves,” Arya reminded him. “They follow Nymeria. There have been stories about this wolfpack for years now. They are legendary.”

 

“They are not as intelligent as your Direwolf, My Lady,” Tormund pointed out.

 

“If I tell Nymeria to lead them to the drawbridge, they will follow. Riverrun will be surrounded by wolves. And I will be inside.”

 

“I do not believe your brother would allow you to be a part of the invasion,” Tormund protested.

 

Arya levelled him with a determined look. “Jon isn’t here,” she told him, “and I am believed long dead. When a ghost shows up inside Riverrun, they will be afraid.”

 

She would not be dissuaded of the idea, and that night, the scouts searched for the hidden entrance to Riverrun.

 

**

 

The night after, they invaded.

 

**

 

Arya chose the men herself, the ones that would enter the stronghold and take it from the inside, with Tormund’s help. Each one was light on their feet, smaller in stature than most of the men, and in the end she came up with a group of thirty. “Kill any man wearing the Lannister sigil,” she instructed, “but do it quickly and quietly. If someone raises the alarm, we have no chance of succeeding.”

 

He protested heavily, but Arya told Tormund to wait for the drawbridge to be lowered so he could lead the rest of the men into Riverrun. “I swore to your brother that I would protect you,” he said. “I can’t do that from outside.”

 

“And you swore to me to follow me and fight with me in battle,” Arya reminded him. “These are your orders and I expect you to follow.” Before coming to know him, Tormund Giantsbane was a huge and terrifying man, not someone to be trifled with. But he was fiercely protective, and loyal, and kind. And now he was looking at her from behind his beard with so much concern in his eyes. “I’ll be fine,” she told him quietly, taking his hand for a moment. “I promise.”

 

The entrance was well-hidden, and therefore their approach was as well. One by one, they swam across a little canal that would lead to the main river that the castle was named for, and by the time Arya was there, right in the middle of the group where the men insisted she stay, there was blood pooling on the stone underneath two Lannister guards and a clear path up into the courtyard. At the top they split into two groups; one led by a man nicknamed Key by his friends to the ramparts and the other led by Arya into the castle.

 

She stole up behind the first guard, drunk and laughing with the other, and pieced the back of his neck with Needle. The other opened his mouth in shock, stumbling to his feet, but was met by a Mormont man with a blade to his throat. He was about to pull it across when Arya stopped him. “He is not Lannister,” she hissed.

 

“Surrender or die,” the Northerner whispered, and when the guard remained silent, whether in fear or refusal, he was killed and the keys removed from his belt.

 

The doors did not open quietly, but Arya could see silhouettes of men on the ramparts now, coming up behind other men and taking them down. Arya slipped through the gap and was met with another guard. She stabbed him through the heart, cutting off his attempted yell, and had just enough time to watch his eyes widen with surprise before she whipped around and drew her dagger to slit another man’s throat. He dropped heavily, choking on his own blood, and the noise echoed to the high ceiling.

 

“Cover every door,” she ordered her men. A servant stood frozen in the middle of the hall, staring at them with terrified eyes. Arya slapped a hand over her mouth. “Do you want to die tonight?”

 

The girl—gods, she couldn’t be older than eleven—shook her head.

 

“Go into the kitchens and lock the doors behind you,” Arya instructed. She could hear movement now and a man named Reylan shoved two more women into the hall. They were completely silent, and Arya told them the same thing. “Go now,” she said, and they did.

 

There was noise outside now, the unmistakable sound of a drawbridge lowering, and Arya knew they had a few minutes at best before more men were out of their beds. Another servant darted into the hall, looking frightened, and Arya stopped him in his path. “Take me to the Lord of Riverrun’s chambers,” she commanded him. He froze and she shoved her dagger impatiently against his back. “Now!”

 

Reylan and another Mormont man came up behind them, covering Arya as they ascended further into the castle. There were men coming into the halls now, still in their nightclothes but holding weapons, and each one was disposed of on sight. One shouted at the sight of them coming, causing more doors to open. Arya shoved the servant boy against the wall and met them head on, ducking low to cut their legs out from under them, striking again and again until they were bleeding from too many places to keep going. Her men finished them off, and it was not quiet, but in time no more were coming, and the boy stared at her wide-eyed. “Women do not fight like this,” he gasped.

 

“I do,” Arya said shortly. “Now let’s go.”

 

The chamber was guarded by Lannister men. “Lord Edmure resides in there,” the boy whispered. “He is guarded everywhere he goes by the Lannisters.”

 

“Go to the kitchens,” Arya told him. “You’ve done what we’ve asked of you.”

 

The men were at the ready, undoubtedly having heard the fighting, and Arya stepped out alone, Needle in hand. The first, a tall, dark-haired man, stopped short at the sight of her. By the time he saw the sword in her hand, she had crossed the distance between them and lodged her dagger between his ribs. “Winter is here,” she snarled in his face. Behind her, Reylan had wrenched the other guard’s arms behind his back and the other Mormont man stabbed him in the heart. It was all over in seconds, and Arya took the keys from the second before Reylan let him drop unceremoniously to the ground. She wasted no time opening the door and going inside.

 

She had only met her Uncle Edmure once, when she was very small. She held vague memories of laughter and bright eyes, but this man was none of that. He held a torch in hand that illuminated his face, the lines drawn into it and the hollows of his cheeks. His other hand was curled into a fist, clearly ready to lash out, and she held her blade aloft, pointed between his eyes. “Do you know who I am?”

 

He shook his head.

 

Arya stepped into the light of the torch, watched realization dawn over him. “My name is Arya Stark,” she said.

 

“You’re meant to be dead,” Edmure rasped hoarsely.

 

“Yes,” Arya responded. “A young girl does not survive alone in Westeros without help. But here I am, free, and here you are, a prisoner in your own home.”

 

“I did what I had to,” Edmure said, but Arya cut him off.

 

“It doesn’t matter now. What matters is that Daenerys Targaryen is here to take Westeros, and we’ve just begun with Riverrun.” The sound of fighting drifted through the open window across the room, men’s shouts mixing with the howls of wolves. “And it seems that we’ve succeeded. Get dressed.”

 

“The Lannisters will come for you,” Edmure warned her, but he was moving anyways. “And the Freys. You won’t be able to hold Riverrun.”

 

“Didn’t you hear me?” Arya asked. “Daenerys Targaryen with her army of Dothraki and her three dragons is _here_ , in Westeros. Do you think she would have let me come to the Riverlands without a plan? She has the support of the Dornish, the Ironborn, the Tyrells, the North. The Lannisters will have other things to worry about.” She crossed the room, glanced out the window. It faced the drawbridge, and a pack of wolves stood at the end of it, the largest at the front. She spotted Tormund’s wild red hair among those surrounding the remains of Riverrun’s defenses. Then she turned away and left the room. “I will wait outside,” she told Edmure. “We will go down together.”

 

“You are more wolf than your brother was,” Edmure said behind her.

 

She stiffened, but did not stop, and closed the door behind her.


End file.
